


Spilled

by mistleto3



Series: Sarufem!mi [4]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rule 63, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistleto3/pseuds/mistleto3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saruhiko has been spending a lot of time at work, and Misaki feels left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spilled

**Author's Note:**

> (Major self-harm trigger warning!)
> 
> Based on a prompt on Tumblr: “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.” sent by theotakufairy from [this](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/141143377354/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you) list.
> 
> This story can also be found on [Tumblr.](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/148510868413/hey-have-you-seen-the-oh-sarufemmi)

It was just shy of 9pm before the door to their apartment opened and Saruhiko finally stepped through. Misaki watched him enter from the table in the kitchenette with a half-empty glass of red wine clutched between her fingers, unable to keep the look of disappointment off her face. When Saruhiko greeted her, she didn't reply beyond a quiet grunt of acknowledgement.

Saruhiko raised an eyebrow at her standoffishness, and asked cautiously: "You okay?"

"Yeah. Your dinner's in the microwave," her voice was blunt. "You said you'd be home by seven, so it's gone cold."

He nodded, then slunk over to the microwave to reheat the food without saying anything. Misaki twitched in irritation at the grating beeps that issued from it, but didn't say anything, barely even looking over in Saruhiko's direction. He took a seat opposite her and began picking at his food, occasionally glancing up at her over the rims of his glasses, but not speaking. It seemed he was waiting for her to initiate conversation, but she had no intention to.

Once his plate was empty, he dropped it in the sink, then turned around to face her, leaning against the countertop. “What’s your problem?”

She clicked her tongue in irritation, evidently trying to bite her anger back.

“Misaki,” he pressed.

“It’s like you’re a fucking stranger,” she said finally.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re spending more time at work than you are at home. You said this would stop once things weren’t so crazy, but the Slate was destroyed months ago and you’re still working like a fucking dog and _I hardly see you!_ You’re supposed to be my freaking boyfriend, but you’re gone before I even wake up in the morning sometimes, and you get home way past dark. I might as well not even have a damn boyfriend because I only see you for what, half an hour a day? Do you prefer Munakata to me; is that it?” Tears stung her eyes as the frustration that she’d stifled for the past few weeks spilled over. “How could you do this to me when this was part of the reason that you left Homra in the fucking first place? You thought Mikoto was stealing me away from you, and now you’re letting your King steal you away from me!”

“He’s not stealing me away from you,” Saruhiko hissed through gritted teeth. “I’ve been working.”

“You left for work at 8am this morning, and you only just got home. Normal people don’t spend fucking _thirteen hours_ working!” She was on her feet now, an agonised expression contorting her features. Her fingers were balled into fists, and they shook with impassioned fury as she spoke. As she yelled, the back of her hand caught her wine glass, and it toppled over and shattered, leaving glittering shards scattered across the table, and a pool of crimson liquid dripping onto the linoleum. She didn’t seem to notice, though; she was too incensed. Saruhiko flinched at the sound of the glass breaking.

“Is Sceptre 4 more important to you than me, huh?! Because if it is, at least have the decency to let me know so I don’t have to waste my fucking time.” She didn’t give him a chance to reply, turning on her heel and snatching up her skateboard as she stormed out of the door, leaving Saruhiko looking dumbstruck as he watched her go.

She slammed the door behind her, stepped onto her board, and kicked off against the concrete, tearing blindly through the streets as though she hoped that the wind rushing through her hair would blow away the anger that pulsed in the pit of her stomach. Her vision was still blurred by the tears that burned in her eyes.

Misaki didn't know how long she rode around like that for, but eventually she found herself circling back towards the apartment. The rage that had risen at the back of her throat had begun to recede, and her racing heartbeat slowed back to a more normal pace. Now that the simmering anger no longer clouded her sight, Misaki felt a wave of guilt as she realised she’d been way too hard on Saruhiko. His job was important, and the dissipation of the Slates’ powers was piling on his workload. She allowed her skateboard to roll to a stop.

_Shit…_

She sighed, tugging off her hat and running her fingers through her hair in frustration. Of course she missed him when he worked long hours, but he wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t important. And besides, she was happy that he’d found his people, that he fit with Sceptre 4 the way he never had at Homra. Misaki chewed her lip as guilt bubbled in her stomach, then turned her board back towards their apartment.

When Misaki arrived home, there was no sign of him in the main living area of the apartment, but the door was unlocked, so he must still be home- he always locked the door when he was out.

“Saruhiko…?”

There was no response. Misaki figured he must have shut himself in his loft. She sighed, dropping her board beside the door and walking through into the kitchenette. The sight of the pool of wine on the floor made her blanch; it looked a little too much like blood for her liking, and ever since she’d found Tatara lying on that rooftop the sight of large amounts of blood made her nauseous. She turned away from the sight quickly, distracting herself by rummaging through the cupboard beneath the sink in search of the floor cleaning solution, but there was none in sight. Trying to avoid looking at the puddle of scarlet liquid, she headed towards the bathroom to see if there was any with the cleaning supplies stored in there, calling out to Saruhiko as she did:

“Hey, have you seen the…? Oh.”

As she pushed open the door, she found Saruhiko standing in front of the sink, holding a razor blade in his trembling hand. The pale, almost translucent skin of his wrists was already criss-crossed with raised pink scars, where he used to rake his burning fingertips across the flesh, but they were all old wounds, all healing. All except one- a single, straight, scarlet line, with little beads of fresh, ruby-coloured blood forming at the edge of the cut and spilling down into the sink.

At the sound of the door opening, Saruhiko’s head snapped up to stare at Misaki, and both of them froze, wide-eyed, Misaki in horror and Saruhiko in fear. Misaki felt her insides turn to ice at the sight of her lover’s blood dripping down his arm. Tears prickled in her eyes once more. 

After a drawn-out moment, she was the first to move, approaching him slowly to catch his hand in her own and ease the blade out from between his fingers. As soon as it had been removed from his grasp, she tossed the offending item into the bin.  

It was no secret that Saruhiko had had a rough past, and he hadn’t coped with it in the healthiest way. His issues with his parents, his issues with feeling out-of-place in Homra, his issues with feeling abandoned by Misaki… he’d been through periods of time when he blamed himself for all of it. When he thought maybe his parents would have loved him if he’d been worth loving, maybe he’d have fit in at Homra if he’d tried harder, maybe Misaki wouldn’t have drifted away from him if he’d deserved her. There had been times when he’d truly despised himself, times that he’d felt he ought to be punished. So he’d etched those scars onto his arm, and kept his shame hidden beneath a wristband.

But things had been getting better recently. He’d surrounded himself with people who cared about him: his clan, his King, and Misaki, and he’d finally begun to let them in, let them show him that he deserved to be cared about. Misaki’s acceptance that Saruhiko’s place was with Sceptre 4 and her apologies for not noticing how out-of-place he’d felt was demonstrating to him that leaving Homra really was inevitable, and that was okay. And she was teaching him that he deserved to be loved, deserved to love _himself._ Misaki knew that she couldn’t love away his mental illness, but it seemed that having someone there at his side through the more difficult times was a great help to him, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Now that he was no longer going it alone, the wounds on his wrists were beginning to heal, the scars were beginning to fade, and no new wounds had been appearing.

Until today.

“Saruhiko… why?” Misaki spoke softly.

“I made you feel abandoned. What kind of human trash would do that, knowing how horrible it feels?” His voice was hollow.

 “Shit… I’m sorry…” she breathed, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. Apologies normally didn’t come easily to her; she struggled to swallow her pride enough, but the word didn’t catch in her throat this time. She could feel him shaking as he hugged her back. “I was too hard on you. Your job is important, it’s not your fault if you need to work, so I won’t listen to you insult yourself,” she said gently. “I just miss you…”

“I miss you too.”

“Please don’t hurt yourself.”

Misaki felt Saruhiko’s head drop against her shoulder, as though he was ashamed.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“It’s okay, ya don’t have to apologise... Lemme see,” she murmured, and Saruhiko didn’t seem to have the energy to protest. He drew back from the hug and held out his forearm for her to inspect, and Misaki bit her lip at the sight of the wound. She could only look at it for a moment before averting her eyes and reaching for a few first aid supplies from the medicine cabinet.

“It’s just a scratch, you don’t need to…” Saruhiko objected.

“You don’t want it getting infected or anything. This’ll only take a minute,” she cut in.

Saruhiko sighed and gave in, holding his arm steady as she cleaned the wound with an antiseptic wipe and covered it carefully with a dressing.

“There,” she said quietly, then paused and added: “Ya know… You can talk to me, if you’re ever feeling like this. It’s nothing to be ashamed of or anything like that… I’m here for you. Sorry for running out on you.”

He kissed her on the forehead, and she tangled her fingers with his and led him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, then took a seat on the bed and patted the mattress beside her. As Saruhiko sat down, she mumbled:

“I just get worried that you’re overworking yourself… you seem really tired. It’s okay to ask to reduce your hours or take a day off if you need it.” She half-knew he wouldn’t take her advice, but she felt the need to say it anyway.

He paused for a moment, then said quietly: “…Call in sick for me tomorrow.”

Misaki blinked in surprise. “Huh?”

“I’ve never called in sick, so my colleagues will probably think I’m dying or something if I did it myself.” He sighed, then admitted: “I think taking a day off would be a good idea.”

Misaki nodded. “I can do that.”

“Thanks,” he leaned over and kissed the top of her head once more, and Misaki couldn’t help but notice the deep tiredness etched into his eyes, and into the shadows beneath them.

“We ought to get some sleep,” she suggested, and he nodded, then he hesitated. His eyes met hers, then his gaze dropped to glance the bed, wordlessly asking if she meant they sleep together.

“Y-you should stay with me tonight,” she offered in response. A faint blush coloured her cheeks at the suggestion; they’d only shared a bed with one another a handful of times, and even though it wouldn’t be sexual, Misaki still wasn’t quite used to this level of intimacy. Still, she wanted to stay close to him tonight, keep an eye on him.

Saruhiko nodded, then retreated to his loft to change into his pyjamas, and Misaki did the same while he was out of the room, then darted into the kitchen to wipe up the splash of red wine on the linoleum and clear up the broken glass she’d almost forgotten about.

She had just returned to her room and tucked herself under the covers by the time he returned and slid in beside her. The bed was small, but there was just enough room for both of them if they lay close together; neither of them took up much space. Saruhiko lay with his back to her, and Misaki pressed her chest against him, draping her arm around his waist to pull herself closer. Her hands were shaking with anxiety, and she was completely certain he could feel it, but she swallowed back her nerves. She needed to make sure he felt loved, and this seemed to be the best way to do it; the butterflies in her stomach would have to come second.

Surely enough, after a few minutes, she felt the tension in his muscles beginning to unravel, and he rolled over to face her, snaking his arms around her to pull her small frame closer against him. It seemed he found reassurance in the contact, Misaki noticed with relief. Despite the cramped space and the slightly stifling warmth of keeping the body heat of two people trapped beneath the blanket, Misaki could feel Saruhiko relaxing in her arms, hear his heartbeat slowing where her head was pressed against his chest.

“Are you okay now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, pressing his face into her hair. There was a silent understanding between them that, while “okay” didn’t really mean okay, it at least meant that his self-destructive urges had passed. And any progress was good progress.

Misaki didn’t say anything else after that, merely continuing to trace patterns on his back with her fingertips as he drew comfort from their embrace. It wasn’t long until Saruhiko’s breathing became slow and deep as his emotional and physical exhaustion finally pulled him under. Misaki lay awake for a while after Saruhiko had fallen asleep, her skin tingling wherever it touched his. She was still getting used to this kind of intimacy, and while it still made her heart race and her cheeks burn with nervousness, she decided she could definitely get used to it. And if that intimacy gave Saruhiko any sort of comfort, she would lie beside him forever.  

 


End file.
